Why?
by Clez
Summary: Two shorts compressed into one fic. Set after the episode 'Faith'.
1. Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?

I know I have made some mistakes... big mistakes. Some bigger and more devastating than others. Some mistakes have hurt those around me, and without realising, I have driven people away.  
  
People like my husband, Fred, the man I fell in love with so many years ago... the man I love even now. I have lied to him, deceived him, and misused the trust we vowed to each other when we wed. I don't blame him for being so distant now... I don't deserve his closeness. Not after what I have done to him.  
  
People like Bosco... the best friend I have in this world. I treasure him so much, and I shun him, and ignore his advice, which sometimes surprises me in how much it makes sense. He is wiser than he realises, and I have never told him. I should... I should let him know how much his thoughts mean to me. I don't listen to his problems as tentatively as I could, and it hurts him... I see it in his eyes.  
  
Even now I think about what I have done... and I want to break down and cry. I was so selfish, and Bosco was right. He told me how selfish it was, and I -as usual- didn't listen to him. But I lied, and that's what saddens me most of all.  
  
For years I have prided myself on my honesty, and even now it disgusts me how I could lie so openly... use a terrifying opportunity to serve my own needs. How could I have been so stupid?  
  
I remember seeing Fred sitting on the end of that bed, crying. He had been so excited when I had told him I was pregnant, that another little bundle of joy could be entering our lives. But his eagerness had frightened me, made me realise how we weren't able to cope with another mouth to feed, another body to clothe. I knew it, but Fred didn't want to... I keep trying to tell myself that what I did was in everyone's best interest.  
  
It pains me to think how I went behind everyone's backs to save myself from more problems... problems that could have taught me some valuable lessons in life. What are problems if not opportunities to succeed or fail... and in failing we learn, we learn that not everything is a walk in the park.  
  
I need to learn. But it is too late to learn from what I did.  
  
Or is it?  
  
I know now that I was perhaps too hasty. I could have loved that child with all my heart... given it all my love, everything I could spare. I deprived myself of more happiness. Not only that, but Emily and Charlie will never know, and Fred thinks I had a miscarriage.  
  
How could I have done that? Why hadn't I just told him I didn't want the baby? I had basically told Bosco. He had known, I think, what I was going to do. He has a sense that I can't begin to comprehend. He seems to realise things that I miss all the time. How does he do that?  
  
I remember staring at that bare ceiling in that clinic, and thinking how I was right, how it was my choice and no one else's, and no one could take that decision away from me. No one had the right. But now I realise one thing... as I think back on the termination of that baby's life.  
  
I didn't have the right.  
  
Who was I to deny it a chance to go through life, to succeed and fail in it's own ways, to make it's own mistakes and learn from them. What have I done? Why did I do it? How could I?  
  
Me, a woman of morals and values, a woman who goes out there nearly every day and sees all the crap women like me go through to keep their children, through custody battles, or kidnapping, or run-aways.  
  
And I can so easily throw away all of that. I killed that baby without thinking it through thoroughly. I know now that I was as stupid as I have ever been.  
  
I received so many sympathetic phone calls about my 'miscarriage', my friends telling me that they were sorry, and if there was anything they could do, I should just call them... that it was as easy as that... they wished. I wish.  
  
And Bosco... god, with a tough exterior like that, how can he be so caring, so understanding... and make me feel so guilty all at the same time. I saw it all in his eyes. He had felt so responsible, telling me that I should have been driving, instead of chasing that rapist down into that subway. He said to me not long after, whilst I was on desk-duty, that he should have taken the hit.  
  
I had to use all my strength to keep from sobbing and coming clean about it all right there and then. My aching ribs had reminded me of my act every day for near on three weeks. My god, the agony had driven me stir- crazy. I hadn't been able to sleep for days... still can't sometimes.  
  
I'm back on patrol with him now, and every now and then I see those deep understanding eyes drift my way, and his brow furrows in that subtle way. He knows... I swear by my life that he knows. He doesn't let on... but I swear. His body language suggests it. He's more cautious around me now... more discreet in what he says, how he says it, what he implies. Anything to do with babies is given a miss. I appreciate the thought, but he needn't bother.  
  
He shouldn't bother because the baby didn't die. It was killed. By it's own mother... by me. By the mother of two children, a 'loving' wife... a partner, a best friend... a cop.  
  
And still, even with all these thoughts and realisations, I find I keep asking myself the same damn question... despite the fact I already know the answer.  
  
Why does my heart feel so bad? 


	2. Why Can't I Show I Care?

I remember seeing her leave the stationhouse, walking slowly, her ribs causing her pain... obvious pain. I had seen that look of agony sweep over her beautiful face every few seconds, and I had wanted nothing more than to reach out and help her, but I knew she wouldn't want it... she would just push me away. I walked behind her, trying not to let my normal pace run away with me. I didn't want to leave her behind. She probably would have tried to keep up, knowing her. I didn't want to be responsible for making her injuries worse.  
  
I gave her a lift home after she'd identified the rapist. She'd told me that she'd recognised him instantly, and that she had spoken with the first victim not long after. Faith had told me very little about what had been said. I hadn't asked. I'm not sure I want to know. I'm not sure how I would react. How could I react to that sort of knowledge? Men have no idea what it's like, and I know that. Women have their own reactions to that sort of thing, and I respect that. I couldn't understand.  
  
But what sticks in my mind is how -after the attack- she had had a miscarriage and lost her baby. The rapist had killed the baby. He probably hadn't even known. I doubt he would have cared even if he had known.  
  
It had made me mad then, and even now, just at the thought, the urge to break something is almost overpowering. It is a constant battle to keep it under control. I don't want to let my emotions get the better of me, not around Faith.  
  
It doesn't even seem to bother me majorly that Nicole broke up with me either. She's like an afterthought when it comes to Faith. I had told myself that I had loved her, but now I'm not so sure. I'm not so sure of anything. Had I loved her? Had I used the knowledge of her being with other men as an excuse to get away? Why hadn't I just thought it over a little more instead of getting myself in so deep... as usual. I might have been able to cause Nicole a little less pain. I hadn't really wanted to hurt her like that. I just wanted to be with Faith.  
  
My partner means so much to me that I can't even put into words how it felt to hear of the loss of her baby, and how upset Fred had been. She'd told me he had cried. I would never have imagined him crying until now. I didn't think it was possible.  
  
I remember now how I had wanted so desperately to be there for her after the miscarriage, even though she had seemed somewhat... blank. Whenever I had seen her during her desk duty, she had been staring at something blankly, her eyes vacant. It had frightened me a little. She had always seemed so on top of things, that seeing her so lost in something that meant so much to her threw me off. She had seemed like a whole new person, one who needed help desperately but was too afraid to ask.  
  
Even when she'd told me of the news, she hadn't seemed as upset as I thought she would have been. If that had been my kid... god... I don't know what I would have done.  
  
Well, the obvious answer is that I would deal with the guy responsible, make him regret ever taking his first breath. I would make him pay, and pay dearly for such a crime. I wouldn't let him get away with it.  
  
But Faith doesn't seem too affected. Maybe it was because she had only been about ten weeks pregnant. Maybe she hadn't grown too attached. She hadn't had a chance to get to know the baby inside of her. That chance had been ripped away from her.  
  
Still, I can't help thinking I could have done something more for her. I know, without a doubt, that that hit should have been for me... I should have been the one pushing papers for three weeks. I should have been the one in pain every moment.  
  
And I know I should have gotten out of that car and chased that bastard all that way. Maybe I would have got him... who knows?  
  
I don't doubt Faith's ability to run down a perp, but I feel I might have somehow been able to save that baby if I had just gotten out of the damn car.  
  
I always make the worst possible mistakes at the most important times. I hurt people, I offend them... I ignore them. I shouldn't. I shouldn't do any of that stuff... ever. Especially not to my friends. Especially not Faith. They don't deserve it... she doesn't deserve it.  
  
Sometimes I think about requesting a transfer to another partner, just to give her a break, let her get away from me for a while. But then I think how much I need her, how I couldn't bear seeing her hurt... or killed. I wouldn't know what to do if that happened. How would I be able to live with myself?  
  
I need to be more careful... I know that. I do know it. But I never seem to realise that I know it when I'm out there. It's like I become a different person whenever I put that uniform on.  
  
I suppose we all do in a way, all of us... me, Faith, Sully, Ty... everyone. I've seen them out of work. They're not the same people... they're different somehow. They're happier.  
  
Then why do I still feel so bad when I take it off? Maybe it's because I get too involved. Not in a personal way... more emotionally, where no one can see that I care.  
  
Everyone thinks I'm heartless. I have no one to blame for that but myself. I put on a brave face that makes everyone around me think I don't care. I put up barriers, push people away. Why am I afraid to let people know that I have feelings like everyone else?  
  
Why can't I show I care? 


End file.
